


Devil's Bargain

by AlterEgon



Category: Le Pacte des Loups | Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001)
Genre: Backstory, Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Injury, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/pseuds/AlterEgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exiled by his family to Africa due to his improper interest in his younger sister, Jean-Francois de Morangias tries to make the best of things - until an unfortunate hunting accident sends him right back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for ...  
> Well, I guess not exactly detailed gory description of violence, but some injury hinted at.  
> Incestuous thoughts but nothing explicit.
> 
> Go easy on this story, the poor thing is 11 years old (according to my notes, it was first completed on 3 Jan 2003).

Jean-François jerked out of a nightmare, still flailing and grappling with the demons that had haunted his sleep, until he found himself suddenly and uncomfortably on the hard-packed dirt floor. He would never get used to the narrow folding cots they had in their tents!

Sunrise was still at least an hour away. The oppressive heat, however, had already arrived and permeated his tent.

The young Frenchman reached for his sword and stepped outside.

He had only recently purchased the weapon from a local man. A regular sword with a strangely shaped blade at first glance, the weapon would come apart to turn into a deadly whip when wielded just right. It was a piece of art, really, and Jean-François had sworn to himself that he would master it.

At least his pre-dawn practice hours required enough focus to make him forget the reason for his stay in Africa for a little while, even though it would often work only for minutes at a time.

Marianne...

Marianne, the girl he loved and must not love.

He looked out over the dark steppes, but all that he could see was her face.

He clenched his fist until his fingernails bit into his palm and the pain wrenched him back into the present.

What was wrong with him?

An almost super-human application of will power forced his mind not to get side-tracked again. Not long, and the whole camp would be up. He'd not have any time to practice with what his superiors considered nothing but an idle toy then.


	2. Chapter 2

Jean-François hardly dared to breathe as he checked his rifle one last time. It was loaded, cocked and ready: The fulfilment of his mission was within arm's reach. He had spent hours upon hours in his hiding spot to achieve it.

Recently, someone or something had stolen remarkable portions of their provisions at night. Paw prints found in food that had been pulled out, scattered and left behind suggested a four-legged thief.

They had set traps, but not caught a single animal that might have been responsible for the nocturnal raid on their supplies. They had placed pickets in various locations, only to have them skilfully circumvented by the perpetrator every single time.

The next morning always found them facing tired and irritable soldiers in addition to missing supplies.

Now Jean-François de Morangias, an officer by virtue of noble birth alone, had set himself the task to bring down the creature.

He had his suspicions what kind of enemy he was facing.

If he was right, the thief could smell the metal of the traps as well as the hidden guards and thus bypass them easily. Keeping this in mind, he had found a place that was downwind and done all he could to cover his smell.

The other officers and even some of the common soldiers had laughed at his explanations when they thought he wouldn't hear them.

Jean-François' lips twitched into a scornful smile as he imagined their faces the next morning, when they saw him successful where they had failed. This would be a feat worthy of being covered in a letter to Marianne...

He shook his head to clear it.

Why couldn’t he ever think of anything but his little sister? It really wasn't surprising that their father had sent him away.

A dark figure, moving in the darkness before him, caught his attention. Sneaking through the shadows where it was almost invisible, it approached soundlessly. After the first sighting, however, Jean-François never lost sight of it again.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, but he waited patiently until the predator's vague outline was in exactly the right position.

Patience was among the very first things that any serious hunter had to learn. Jean-François was good at waiting for the moment of his kill. He hardly ever caused his prey to scatter by an early or badly-aimed shot.

The moment came, and he brought up his rifle in one smooth motion and pulled the trigger without the slightest hesitation. The shot rang loudly through the sleeping camp. The thieving shadow was thrown to the ground, came back to its feet, turned to flee and collapsed again without even clearing the tent lines. 

Men came running, looking at Jean-François with sleepy and astonished expressions.

He had emerged from his cover, standing with his legs firmly planted and his rifle still held easily in his hand and looking at each approaching man in turn. Satisfaction radiated out from him.

A darkly elegant shadow himself now, he walked over to his prey to determine the precise nature of the thing he had just killed.

His rifle's muzzle remained pointed at the animal's furry head. Jean-François had never been so close to any member of this specific species before.

A good shot, indeed. Just as he had hoped, while seriously wounded, the hyena was not dead. Weakened as it already was by rapid blood loss, the animal still tried to struggle back to its feet and growled at him as he approached.

Everyone in camp had learned to hate hyenas by now. The beasts lingered at the fringes of every group of men, hoping to steal something edible. They were sly, tricky thieves and it was said that they would even carry away and eat children. They knew no fear of man, but they realised that rifles could hurt them even over a distance and fled from the sight of one.

This one was beyond fleeing.

While Jean-François still stood looking down at his prey, another man stepped forward. Even younger than Jean-François, he was actually looking for adventure more than anything else. He clutched at his weapon and seemed eager to finish what the young nobleman had begun.

Jean-François, however, had different plans. Just in time, he grabbed the other man's rifle and twisted it upwards. The shot that was intended to end the hyena's life tore the air noisily but ineffectively.

"Whoa!" the man snapped at him. "Are you crazy?"

Jean-François stared him down angrily. "I shall keep this animal," he declared. "And if anyone here thinks to kill it, he’d better think well about how to handle my reaction."

It was a notion he had first conceived of when he had become aware of the superb sense of smell those animals had. Taming and training one would have to result in the ultimate hunting dog. He had heard tales of men who had performed the feat and saw no reason why he should not be able to copy their success.

Jean-François' commanding officer pushed his way through the crowd just as the young Frenchman knelt by the beast to stem the flow of blood before he lost his precious new pet.

"Have you lost your mind?" the older man hissed at him. He was clearly going to continue, but Jean-François forestalled the tirade he saw coming.

Straightening, he wrapped himself in a cloak of nobility, wealth and power that few men dated contradict. "Indeed I have not," he returned haughtily. "My father runs a splendid menagerie. If this beast survives, I shall send it to France for him."

His father had no such thing and he was not planning on doing any such thing, of course. At that moment, however, it was the most likely excuse to get him permission to go through with the first steps of his intentions. He would worry about how to justify the 'adjustment' of his plans later.

*

Jean-François approached the hyena cautiously. It had stretched its chain taut and produced a low and threatening growl that originated deep inside its throat.

He stopped just out of reach of its powerful jaws.

After he had carefully patched up the animal's wound, he had chained it – her – by his tent. Begging leftovers from the cook, he had left food and water for her at first, until the large predator had recovered from her wound sufficiently to start trying to free herself.

Since then, they had played the same game every single night:

Jean-François approached the circular area where the hyena had torn open the ground in her attempts to get loose, crouching down where he was still safe from attack.

Treating her wound and grooming her when she was too weak to do it herself hadn't done anything to convince the beast that he meant well. Determined to tame her no matter what, he had quite simply stopped feeding her.

The hyena, though noticeably weaker by the day now, never stopped fighting.

"You wonderful, beautiful creature," Jean-François whispered as he observed her.

He was most certainly the only one to think so.

Half-starved now and with her fur shaggy and dirt-encrusted, the animal was more reminiscent of an evil spirit than a hyena. Jean-François, however, had eyes only for her stamina, her iron, unbroken will. Every night, he spent hours talking to the animal, which in turn tried to get close enough to him to take a bite out of him.

*

It took another few days before Jean-François was no longer greeted with a snarl.

Now, the hyena was lying on the ground in a pitiful heap, her head resting on her front paws with an expression of complete and utter misery.

Carefully, body tensed to spring back any moment, the man entered the area in reach of the chained animal. The slightest threatening movement would make him jump right back out again.

"Good evening, girl," he greeted the hyena in a low, friendly voice. "Are you hungry?"

He held out a piece of meat, better than what he had fed her before. This had been shot by him earlier that day, as he had been hunting with the other officers.

The animal lifted her head weakly. She was hungry alright, but she hardly had the strength left to get the food held so enticingly close to her.

After a long moment of consideration, Jean-François closed the rest of the distance between them and held out the meat to her.

He never stopped talking to the hyena while she took the food from his hand and he scratched her huge head. Now, he was certain, they were going to make some progress.

"See," he said when the animal's tongue finally licked the hand that had just fed it without trying to bite. "We'll get along wonderfully now, won't we?"


	3. Chapter 3

Even his joy in training the hyena could not keep Jean-François from pursuing the joys of the hunt. Lions made for a particularly interesting prey for most hunters hereabouts.

Though the average lion was disappointingly easy to kill, as the large cats were surprisingly lazy and uninterested in a confrontation, they made good trophies.

Still, he lusted after a more demanding prey, a challenge that he could try his wits and his skill with a rifle on. Nothing was better for taking his mind off of the forbidden thoughts that crowded it almost every idle minute of his day than putting himself into a situation where every little lapse of his focus might mean his death.

If he could combine that with the kind of heroic deed that was worth writing to Marianne about, it was all the better.

That was why he was facing another target out in the steppe today. A lion, yes, but this was an old loner that, instead of following his species' usual pastimes of sleeping, eating and sleeping some more, found pleasure in haunting the surrounding villages. The beast had apparently discovered that it had a taste for human flesh, and that it was quite capable of taking what it liked. Jean-François intended to put an end to that.

What would Marianne say when she heard that he had rid the area from such a scourge?

Marianne. He thought of her everywhere, all the time, even now, when a lack of attention could be fatal while hunting wild cats.

He was on foot. Horses rarely survived long in Africa. They were difficult and expensive to maintain and often slowed you down more than they helped. He refused to ride the much hardier donkeys and mules, even though he appreciated their use as pack animals. 

Now he was facing down the old lion – literally so.

His companions were probably holding their breath as they watched him. They, too, had their rifles out and ready, but they kept back and maintained a healthy distance both from him and the prey. Jean-François was known for venturing closer to danger than any other.

The lion tensed, its massive muscles bunching up as it prepared to jump. It, too, was a hunter, even though it was hardly a common pastime among the males of its species. This day, his prey was a dark-haired man dressed all in red.

A shot rang out through the steppe. Thrown off track, the lion landed hard in an ungainly heap, struggled briefly and came back to its feet, shaking and roaring in pain and fury. Jean-François reloaded his rifle.

The lion had no such need to delay it. One huge leap took it right on top of the hunter.

The weapon went flying from the impact and Jean-François brought up his hands to protect his face.

A scream tore from his throat as the lion's teeth dug deeply into his right arm.

He was dimly aware of the voices behind him, hysterically calling for someone to shoot the beast, as he kicked and pounded at the huge body looming over him.

Someone obeyed, apparently, as a shot rang out, followed by another one.

Neither had any effect beyond convincing the lion that it was a good idea to retire elsewhere with its writhing dinner. Closing its teeth firmly around Jean-François' arm, ripping new holes into skin and muscle, it took off, galloping awkwardly away and dragging the man along with it.

One more shot, and finally – finally – the large cat collapsed.

Jean-François lay half-buried under the cadaver, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.

The pain in his arm seemed a remote thing, distant from him and not quite connected to his body or otherwise his business – more as if it had been someone else who had just been dragged along by that creature.

Time seemed to slow down for Jean-François as the other men arrived to drag the dead lion off of him. Even then, he felt as if caught in a dream, still trying to make sense of what had happened.

An older officer knelt by his side, babbling things that made no sense. Jean-François wanted to get to his feet, but strong hands held him down.

"Rest easy, boy, you'll be just fine," the man promised.

Had he claimed anything to the contrary?

He tried to throw off the interfering hands, but where his left arm pushed feebly at them, his right wouldn't obey at all.

Turning his head to look, he groaned when he saw the bloody mess the lion had left behind as his teeth tore through skin and flesh. Pain rolled over him in a wave that knocked the breath out of him and sent darkness looming before his eyes.

He screamed as someone touched his arm to stop the flow of blood.

 

*

 

"They're sending me home, girl." Jean-François' hand trembled as he wrestled with his hyena's collar.

Home.

Where Marianne was.

Oh, how he had wished to be allowed back – before.

Now the thought gave him no pleasure: Far from returning as a glorious officer, distinguished in battle and celebrated by everyone, he was sent back because of the trouble he had gotten himself into off-duty.

The surgeon had given his arm a fleeting glance and declared that his best chance would be to have it off at the shoulder entirely.

Jean-François had screamed, raged, refused and finally been granted his will with a shrug. Now his arm rested in a sling, entirely useless and forming a single solid source of pain that renewed its onslaught every time its owner dared to move. Jean-François had already bitten the inside of his mouth to shreds in an effort not to scream whenever someone accidentally bumped into him or touched or jostled the limb in some other way.

Finally he had gotten the hyena free. The collar dropped to the ground, where it remained unheeded.

The animal lifted her huge head. She was restless, smelling the blood on her master that once again seeped through his bandages and stained his shirt.

"Go on," Jean-François told her. "Run! Get going!"

The hyena looked at him without comprehension, turned in place and sat on her haunches.

"Idiot creature," Jean-François hissed as he turned and walked away, the hyena close on his heel.


	4. Chapter 4

Jean-François looked out of his window, deep in thought.

He was back in Gévaudan.

Back home.

His family had welcomed him with open arms when he had returned, asking to be admitted with his face pale and eyes shining with fever. At the time, he had hardly been able to stay on his feet anymore. The time just after his return was remembered only as a confused, blurry chaos of nightmare and reality.

Coming to think of it, reality was not so very unlike the nightmares.

The main thing he did remember was the torture that he had suffered at the hands of Henri Sardis, as the man had cleaned his wounds, cutting and burning away rotting dead flesh.

Once again, the only light in his hours of darkness had been Marianne.

Marianne, who still had no idea why he had gone to Africa, and who now nursed her big brother with all the devotion he could have wished for.

Soon, all too soon that would be over.

Jean-François almost felt well enough to leave his bed now. His arm, though far from healed, had been saved. Granted, he did not wish to think about the condition it was in, and his stomach still revolted every time Sardis removed the bandages and he laid eyes on the butchery under them, but there was no longer any reason for him to lose the arm. He might even keep some modicum of use in it.

And what would happen when he was as recovered as he would get?

Would his father send him away again?

He didn't know how he would be able to bear that.

There was a knock on his door, and Sardis entered without waiting for his answer. The priest had not only saved Jean-François' life, but, as he had assured him, also found a place for the hyena that had refused to leave the young officer's side and had finally been brought to France with him.

"What's wrong with you, my son?" Sardis asked as he took in Jean-François' defeated look.

"Nothing," he claimed. It sounded unconvincing even to himself.

"Is it Marianne?"

Jean-François' head jerked around in shock. How had the priest learned of it? Was it that obvious?

Silence was his only answer.

Sardis did not need any more than that. "What if I knew a way to ensure that she will never leave your side?"

Hope, fear, disbelief and mistrust mingled in Jean-François' voice as he breathed three words:

"Show me how."

 

*

Sardis met Marianne by the door just as she was about to check on her brother later that night.

The priest looked exhausted.

"I am so very sorry," he told her. "A recurrence of the rot - there was no other way."

Frowning in confusion, Marianne pushed past the man and into the room, freezing in her tracks when she laid eyes on Jean-François.

His face was marked by pain, nearly as white as the heap of pillows at his back that kept him propped up. The right sleeve of his nightshirt hung empty.

He didn't find it hard to play the suffering sick man. His injured arm, tied onto his back in an entirely unnatural position by Sardis to make it look as if it had been amputated, hurt unbearably. Tears of pain came easily the moment he stopped fighting them.

Tears of her own brimming in her eyes, Marianne – his Marianne – stumbled towards the bed, and through the haze of agony, he knew that Sardis had been right.

She would never leave him now.

Never.

That knowledge was worth all the pain he might suffer.


End file.
